


Libation

by SemperDraca



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, F/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, dom!quinn sub!gimrizh, in which Vette and Pierce are both terrible and great enablers, seriously this is just self-indulgent smut don't expect more than that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26258428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SemperDraca/pseuds/SemperDraca
Summary: In which Gimrizh makes a series of blunders and succeeds in seriously pissing Quinn off.
Relationships: Malavai Quinn/Female Sith Warrior
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Libation

**Author's Note:**

> This is set post-Iustitia. If you haven't read that big dumb mainverse, it doesn't matter, all you need to know is that Gimrizh had some ... uh... bad adventures with alcoholism and this is set after that.

A somewhat incoherent text message from Vette leads Malavai to an unkempt cantina in the lower levels of Kaas City’s Flower District. Normally he wouldn’t have bothered listening to Vette and her jumbled up messages, but Gimrizh’s name had been mentioned in between the mess of letters and random punctuation. 

The cantina reeks of cigarra smoke and spice, and he makes a mental note as he steps in to report it for allowing illegal spice use on the premises. It’s not very busy, considering the time of day, and over the irritatingly bouncy music and the chatty patrons, it’s easy for him to spot where Vette and Gimrizh are situated. They’re sitting around a table with Pierce and two others that Malavai thinks he knows - Ah, yes, he does know them. Feng and Ishlee, the two technicians that work with Gimrizh in the Developmental Lightsaber Department. 

All five of them appear to have been drinking like there’s no tomorrow. 

Ishlee is nearly passed out, the Mikkian tendrils on her head twitching weirdly as she tries to prop herself up by the elbows. Feng is no better. Apparently the two are lightweights. Vette and Pierce are nearly yelling at each other and Gimrizh is falling overself giggling. 

Malavai comes to a stop behind Gimrizh’s chair and taps his foot. 

Vette’s the first to notice. “Oh!” She blinks at him. “Oh shit, _right_.”

“Wha - “ Gimrizh turns around, nearly knocking a shot glass filled with whiskey off the table. “I - What are you doing here? I didn’ know this was a party?” She giggles and gives him a grin that’s probably supposed to be flirtatious. “Wanna have a different kind of party?”

“I assure you,” he says, as scathingly as possible. “I have no intention of remaining here. Vette messaged me.”

“Yeaaahh… ‘bout that.” Vette tries to gesture at him with an unsteady hand but gives up, making Pierce burst out laughing again. “Three drink Vette thought tha - that uh, that things were gettin’ outta hand but _current_ Vette has totally changed her mind. Things are _great_ , they’re _fan-fucking-tastic_. You can uh - go do what you normally do?” She turns to Pierce. “Wha’ do military people do?”

An empty glass gets knocked over as Pierce guffaws, slapping the table. “Pshhh - Like I know what _he_ does. Flimsiwork or some shit.”

Oh for the love of - Malavai pushes down his rapidly growing anger to try and maintain a semblance of dignity. Something these five have clearly forgotten how to do. He stares down at Gimrizh, who’s bright red in the cheeks and nearly falling over herself by now. What in the hells does she think she’s _doing_? She’s the krething _Wrath_. And she’s not supposed to be drinking to this extent. 

“Gimrizh.” He ignores the way Vette snorts into her glass and focuses solely on Gimrizh. “It’s two in the afternoon. We have a meeting with the rest of the war trust tomorrow, or have you forgotten? A meeting that I imagine you don’t want to be hungover for.”

The implication he’s trying to get across apparently flies over her head. “But - We had a breakthrough!” she says cheerfully, the words slurring together. “A - A proto - prototype thing - The kyber hydracontainer works an’ it didn’ explode. Last one exploded, remember? It’sa celebration drink!”

“And how many drinks have you had, exactly?”

She starts counting on her fingers. “Well - uh - two. Like I’m supposed to. Then two more. Oh, and then… more?” She snorts out a giggle and wiggles her eyebrows. “Pft - seems like I can’t keep track of what I put in my mouth.” With a dizzying whirl of her head, she turns to Vette and whines, “ _Veeeetteeeee_ how many drinks’ve I had?” 

With a grin, Vette snaps her fingers in an approximation of two blasters. “Not enough!”

Pierce snickers. “Never woulda pegged you for a thirsty drunk, eh boss?”

Gimrizh fails to rest her chin on her hand. “I’m not inta that,” she mumbles between her uncontrolled giggling. 

This is _ridiculous_. 

Malavai crosses his arms and keeps his voice as level as possible as he asks, “Do you have any intention of ceasing, or are you planning to continue drinking until this cantina runs out of alcohol?”

“I dunno.” She grins at him in a drunk approximation of her occasional seductive smiles. “Wanna join us? It’d be _fuuuuuun_.”

“I highly doubt that. Regardless, I am currently on duty and it’s against Imperial regulations for an officer to be intoxicated while on duty.” He raises an eyebrow at the dirty collection of empty glasses on the tabletop. “Even if such a thing _were_ appropriate for our station, which it is most certainly _not_.”

She pouts. “You and your - your - “ She pauses to think and ends up giggling out, “Your perfect, Imperial regulation _ass_.”

Of all the _infuriating -_

He forces himself to take a deep breath and remember that he _does_ love her, and that this _isn’t_ normal behavior for her, and that she’s done a remarkable job of sticking to her self-imposed two drink limit for almost two years now. Vette and Pierce obviously need to be reminded once again about the negative impact their enabling has. Feng and Ishlee are likely utterly unaware of Gimrizh’s past addiction issues, but the other two are not nearly as blameless. 

Then Pierce doubles over in laughter so loud that it makes every patron in the bar stop and stare at them. 

That’s it. Malavai’s _done_. 

“Fine,” he snaps. “If you decide to come home tonight, I suggest you sober up beforehand.”

He turns on his heel and stalks away from them. Perhaps that was too rude of him. But - Damn it, Gimrizh isn’t supposed to _do this_ anymore. They’ve talked about this, and while he understands the desire to celebrate a success, that doesn’t give her license to sabotage herself in such a manner. She’s supposed to be stopping _that_ bad habit as well. 

As he leaves, he catches snippets of chatter from a nearby table - 

“ - is that - ?”

“He can’t be - wouldn’t it make that Zabrak the Wrath?”

Spectacular. Now Gimrizh is disgracing her own reputation as well as his by proxy. What the hell is up with her today? He can’t recall the last time a prototype project had elicited this sort of reaction in her. Had he not been paying attention to the difficulty of the project? This is _ridiculous_. He barely avoids slamming the cantina door, simmering with anger as he leaves the damn place.

~*~

By the time Gimrizh stumbles out of the cantina, an arm around Vette and Pierce’s shoulders, she can barely remember Malavai stopping by. It’s late out, the sun having dropped behind the grey clouds of Kaas City, and the rainfall helps clear her mind on the taxi ride back to her apartment. She draws in lungfuls of cool air and when she exhales, she uses the force to purge the alcohol from her bloodstream until she’s fully sober and without even a distant trace of a hangover. 

In hindsight, that had probably been a terrible idea. 

She’d just been so thrilled over the successful prototype test, and Vette had been around wanting to celebrate too, and Feng and Ishlee deserved to celebrate after all the hard work they’d done, and somewhere along the way Pierce showed up and… and she’d been having too much fun to stop after two drinks like she usually does. 

How juvenile of her. 

She steps out of the taxi onto her apartment’s landing pad and hurries inside to get out of the rain.

It seems that Malavai’s not back from work yet. Not that she can blame him. Most days he’s far busier than her and she’s used to having to head over to his offices come midnight to pull him away from his desk. She can’t remember well, but she thinks he was annoyed with her for drinking earlier. Maybe? It’s a bit blurry in her head. She should do something for him to apologize. Maybe make dinner?

She heads into the bedroom to kick her shoes off and take off her two pieces of jewelry, setting them down on the dresser before grabbing a towel to pat her rain-damp hair dry. 

There’s a datapad on the dresser as well, and she briefly scrolls through it. Notes for their meeting tomorrow. She doesn’t necessarily like that they’re called the war trust - too many associations with her past work under Baras - but it’s accurate. Darth Marr certainly fits the bill for the name, at least. 

She tosses her towel on top of the datapad.

A force presence, more familiar than her own, enters the apartment. 

Damn, she’d hoped she’d have time to get a good apology dinner started, at least. 

Malavai must be looking for her because a moment later he steps into the bedroom, standing in the doorway. There’s an angry stillness to him, like the calm before the storm. “I see you decided to come home, hm?”

...Oh shit. This would be a fantastic time for her to remember what exactly she said or did earlier when he stopped by. Her mind unhelpfully provides nothing. 

“Ah… yes?” 

“Sober, I hope.”

The scathing tone of voice makes her wince. “Sorry,” she says quietly. “I - It was stupid of me and I really shouldn’t have let myself get carried away like that. I was going to make you dinner to make up for it?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, so now you want to make amends?”

What the _hell_ did she _say_? “Yes?” she squeaks. 

There’s a long, tense silence between the two of them as she desperately combs through her memories to figure out what exactly she said to piss him off like this. Sure, the drunk thing was a terrible start, but the one time in the past that she went over her two drink limit he’d been more of an exasperated medic than - than _infuriated_ with her. 

“Strip.”

She blinks. “What?”

“I said,” he repeats, his eyes narrowing, “ _strip_.”

Something tiny, terrified, and _excited_ twists in her stomach. So, he’s _that_ kind of pissed off. She _did_ say she intended to make it up to him. 

She hastily starts tugging her clothes off, well aware that he’s not in the mood for her to draw it out into a show. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches him as he removes his heavy coat and sits down on the edge of their bed, one leg crossed elegantly over the other. She pauses for a moment once she’s in nothing more than her underwear - sometimes he prefers to take that off her himself, but then again his order had been pretty insistent. She removes the last two pieces of clothing and then she’s completely naked and slightly shivering. 

“Come here,” he orders. And then when she’s in front of him - “On your knees.”

Slowly, she sinks to her knees, her mouth suddenly dry and her heartsrate speeding up. Her hands rest on her thighs, nails curling into her skin. 

There’s a cold fury in his blue eyes that makes a shudder run down her spine and heat coil in her stomach. She’s told him in the past that she doesn’t mind it when he takes out his anger on her - that she _loves_ it, actually, that she _wants_ him to, that it's far more productive that having him simmer until it boils over and he yells at some poor ensign, and that she trusts him enough to know that he’ll never completely lose control, to know that he’ll always stop just short of crossing a line. When that anger is because of her it makes everything so much more intense and she sort of has no idea what he’s going to do to her. 

There’s the kiss of hard leather as he places the toe of his boot under her chin and uses it to tilt her head up. 

“You have no idea what you did, do you?” he asks, cold and quiet. 

She swallows a lump in her throat. “...Not really.”

A push turns her head a centimeter to the side as he regards her for a silent moment. Then he orders, “Take off my boots.”

The humiliating nature of the demand makes her cheeks burn. Not from anger or any similar emotion, but from arousal. Carefully, she undoes the clasp and zip of his boots and removes them, and then she takes off his socks as well for good measure, because it might not have been the letter of his order but it certainly seems in the spirit of it. She sets his boots to the side once she’s done, neatly standing them up against the bedpost so the synthleather doesn’t scuff on the floor.

When she’s done, she sits back on her heels, keeping her gaze fixed on her hands and trying not to squirm. She can practically feel how wet she is and she presses her thighs together to alleviate the impulse to touch herself. 

She can hear the glare in Malavai’s voice, “Perhaps you recall mentioning that you couldn’t keep track of what you put in your mouth.”

That… does ring a bell. Unfortunately.

Before she can respond with an apology or to ask him what else she said, he orders, “Use that mouth of yours for something other than giggling out silly comments and embarrassing yourself in public. If you do a decent enough job, I might even consider fucking you later.”

Oh stars please _yes_. 

She sits up and her hands quickly get to work undoing his belt buckle. Her fingers aren’t as steady as she’d like them to be as she removes his belt, folding the smooth synthleather into a neat coil. 

He holds out his hand. “Give that to me.”

“Y - Yes, sir.” She places the belt into his palm and watches as he sets it aside on the bedsheets. 

“Well?” He raises an eyebrow. “I’m _waiting_.” 

“Sorry, sir,” she says again, quickly returning to her task. 

Before she can finish unbuttoning his trousers, he grabs a handful of her hair and adds, “If you’re careless enough to dishevel my uniform, you’ll regret it.”

With a nervous eagerness, she takes his cock into her mouth, slowly running her tongue up the length of him and trying to figure out the best way of doing this that doesn’t involve getting his uniform messy. It’d be an easier task if he’d undressed at all first, but there’s something hot about him remaining in uniform while she’s stripped down to nothing at all. As though she’s beneath him - a thought that only further turns her on. 

Apparently he’s too furious with her to let her do this on her own terms. He uses that handful of her hair to control her movements. She gasps, the noise choked and muffled, as she finds herself being forced to take all of him at once, his cock hitting the back of her throat. Quickly, she uses the force to repress her gag reflex.

He drags her head up and down, fucking her mouth without concern for her ability to keep up. It becomes almost impossible for her to maintain even a semblance of technique and she has no choice but to let him use her as he sees fit. 

“This is what that mouth of yours is best for,” he snaps, his breathing shallower now. 

One of his hands leaves her hair and reaches for his belt.

She’s able to pull back for a moment, gulping in deep lungfuls of air. He unwinds the synthleather, pushes her hair to the side, and wraps it around her neck like a collar. Oh _hells_. He does up the buckle in the back, sliding two fingers between her skin and the belt to make sure she doesn’t actually choke out, and then gives the loose end of the belt an experimental tug, watching her with those cold eyes of his as he does so. 

The pressure on her neck makes her moan and the noise is strangled in her throat. 

“Better,” he remarks. 

With one hand painfully gripping her hair and the other tugging her towards him with the belt, he starts fucking her mouth again, making her head bob up and down. Any ability to keep her breathing steady that she had before is thrown out the window as she chokes on his cock, desperately trying to do her best even as she’s given no leeway to do anything other than sit there and take it. 

It’s a rhythm - the belt will tighten around her neck until she can’t breath and then he’ll let go and she has a moment of respite.

Her hearts beat in her ears, blood pumping and the limited oxygen making everything fuzzy. All she can feel is the cold air tingling against her breasts and the pleasure coiling in her cunt and the rough drag of his cock in her mouth. Her eyes flutter closed and her jaw aches and she can only distantly hear the sounds Malavai’s making - short, shallow exhales and the occasional pleasured groan or muffled curse. 

He doesn't give her any warning when he comes. Just shoves her head down as far as possible and holds her there, forcing her to swallow. 

Stars, she hopes she did a good enough job, hopes she was good enough for him. She can practically feel her cunt dripping, aching for some kind of stimulation. 

He lets go of the belt, removing it from around her throat and giving her the opportunity to stretch her neck out. Without being held in place, she staggers back, sputtering and coughing, her throat raw and sore, her jaw protesting the rough treatment. Something trickles out of the corner of her mouth - saliva or cum, she can’t tell, and she tries to wipe her mouth before he notices that she’s been sloppy. 

It doesn’t work. He grabs her chin before she can clean herself up. 

His thumb brushes over her lips and chin, picking up the moisture there. “Still making a mess of yourself, I see.”

He slaps her. 

That wetness smears across her cheek and her head smacks to the side. Her hearts skip a beat, eyes wide, cheek stinging. A silent gasp slips out of her lips and she’s so turned on, so ridiculously turned on by the callous punishment.

“Sorry, sir,” she whispers, brushing her fingers against her cheek. 

He stands up, casually doing up the buttons of his trousers and picking up his belt, not a hair out of place and looking like nothing happened at all. “Get on the bed,” he orders. 

Did she do a good enough job? Is he going to fuck her? Stars _please_ let him fuck her. 

She gets to her feet and climbs onto the bed, sitting quietly in the middle of it and watching as he opens the bedside drawer. Maybe it’s a cliche place to keep sex toys, but she likes how convenient it is. 

He pauses in the middle of pulling out a pair of handcuffs. “Did I tell you to get off your knees?”

“Ah, no. Sir. Sorry.” 

Face burning hot, she turns around and gets back on her knees, holding her hands behind her back for him. 

Even with her trying to be helpful like that, he still grabs her wrists and repositions them, tugging them into place before snapping the cold metal cuffs around her wrists. Everything entirely and perfectly as he wants it to be. A reminder that she’s under his complete control right now. The cuffs pin her hands behind her back, and make it so she can’t hold herself up when he puts a hand between her shoulder blades and shoves her head down into the pillows. 

“If you can’t recall what you said earlier,” Malavai tells her, “then it’s only polite of me to remind you.”

She can feel the mattress shift as he presumably puts one knee on the bed.

She hears the _swissh-thwack_ of his belt before the impact of it hitting her ass registers in her fuzzy mind. 

How this is supposed to remind her of her earlier words, she has no idea, but that liquid arousal burns even hotter in her at the pain and she’s hardly going to complain. She draws in a sharp breath and braces herself. 

Again and again his belt smacks against her. Again and again that pain bursts through her.

Usually there’s a sameness to it - he likes to go easy at first so that she can warm up to the pain and settle in. Not today. Today every strike is hard and merciless. Varied too, never hitting the same part of her twice. Some crack against the backs of her thighs, some hit the side of her hips, some on her lower back, just barely missing her fingers. She can feel her own slick juices smear between her thighs as the pain gets more and more intense. 

There’s the sound of him pulling the belt taut. “And how many has that been?”

Shit, was she supposed to be keeping count? “I - I don’t know.”

“Disappointing.” That cold viciousness drips from his voice like venom and makes a shudder run up her spine. “Ten more for good measure, then.”

The last ten hit harder than she thought they could. 

Her ass must be as red as her cheeks are when he’s done with her, stinging with pain and achingly sore. The tiny moan that vibrates in her throat is half from the pain and half from arousal. She’s _so_ desperate for him to fuck, desperate for some kind of sensation on her clit. Hells, even if he took the belt to her cunt, she’d thank him. 

“Recall anything _now_?” he snaps.

She shakes her head. A strand of her hair sticks to the back of her neck, a thin bead of sweat from her pounding hearts and flushed skin. “N - No, sir.”

She can hear him grab something else from the drawer, but her head is turned away and she can’t see what he withdraws. He’s choked her, cuffed her, hit her - she just hopes he’ll fuck her next. Hopes that she can krething remember exactly what the hells she said to piss him off so much. 

There’s the sound of buttons being undone. Out of the corner of her eye she can see him drop his uniform jacket on the bed. The sound of a zipper. Another snap of a button. Her hands curl uselessly behind her back. 

Then she hears the sound of a bottle being opened, the slick noise of lube. 

“Ah…” she says quietly before she can think better of it, “I’m pretty sure I’m wet enough not to need lube.”

“I don’t believe I asked for your opinion.”

His fingers dig into her hip, shifting her slightly, tugging her closer to him. Thank the stars, she _needs_ this so badly. He runs his thumb up the length of her hipbone as though considering, planning out exactly what he wants to do. 

“Beg,” he demands.

“ _Please_.” Her horns catch on the pillowcase as she tries and fails to turn her head to look at him, as though taunting her with her inability to do anything at all right now. “Malavai, sir, please fuck me - I’m so sorry for whatever I said, I didn’t mean it, please let me make it up to you. Just please - please fuck me.”

He gives her another painful smack, this time with his hand. “I suppose that’s a start.”

She can feel his erection now, hot against her skin, and she squirms, trying to help him slide into her cunt. Another smack stills her. There’s the wetness of the lube and then pressure as he pushes the head of his cock into her ass. 

The breathless gasp she makes is nearly smothered by the pillow.

It doesn’t hurt, but she’s _tight_ , so very tight, and it only makes her more aware of how swollen and needy her clit is, still entirely untouched. He gives her a moment to adjust before pulling her back and sinking deeper inside her until his hips are flush against her ass. She can hear his low, sharp exhale.

A roll of his hips makes her whimper. He starts to properly fuck her and she can’t compeltely smother the tiny whines and mewls that inadvertently fall from her lips. She’s so stretched out, and he’s so thick inside her, and she can’t help arching her back, seeking out the pleasure that’s just out of her reach. Because it feels good, it feels so good, that feeling of being filled, being fucked, being _used_. 

“Were you after something else?” Malavai asks, taunting her. “Because I’d much rather have this.” His nails dig into her already tender skin, and he punctuates each harsh word with a slap that makes her head spin, so much worse and so much better than his belt. “Your perfect. Imperial regulation. _Ass_.”

“Oh _fuck_ \- “ Her memory finally returns to her. Stars, she can’t believe she _said_ that to him - said it in public, no less - “I’m sorry!” she stutters. “I’m really sorry, sir, I didn’t - “

“Didn’t mean it? Save your breath.”

She can’t. The drag of his cock inside her leaves her breathless, her hands slack against the cuffs. Another sharp smack of his palm against her ass. She’s so sore, so desperate, and the impact makes every sensation a thousand times more intense. A particularly rough thrust makes her almost sob, from pain and from pleasure. She’s mortified by what she said and that makes it better somehow, knowing exactly what she’s making amends for, and that thought sends another needy throb through her cunt. 

She thinks she’s begging. Begging for more, for him to fuck her harder, for him to touch her, to forgive her. 

He’s breathing harder too, and there’s that giddy, submissive feeling, that knowledge that she’s affecting him, pleasing him. “I don’t particularly care about your own pleasure right now. Either you come from this, or you don’t come at all.”

White hot lust twists low in her stomach at his words. She’s so on edge. Every thrust makes her breasts shift against the bedsheets. The pressure of his cock in her ass is so close to being perfect, her orgasm dangling just out of reach, leaving her to climb higher and higher as he keeps fucking her. 

“P - Please,” she begs again, the word almost drowned out by a high moan. “I’m so sorry for what I - what I said. Just please - I need _more_.”

“I want you to feel this, _darling_ ,” he murmurs in her ear, the endearment now a cruel lash. She can feel the heat of his uneven breath against her neck. “So that tomorrow, when you walk into that meeting and you’re too sore to sit down, everyone will know it’s because I had the great Lord Wrath bound, bent over, and _begging_ for my cock in her ass.”

That image makes the coil of heat in her break and she topples over the edge, coming with a muffled scream. 

Every muscle in her body tightens and then releases, waves of pleasure running over her and threatening to sweep her away into overstimulation. Her back arches and her toes curl in the bedsheets. She buries another moan into the pillow, her hands shaking in the cuffs. 

She can hear Malavai curse. His nails scrape over her skin, burning angry lines in their wake. “Ah - you really are _perfect_ ,” he mutters, drawing in a sharp, heady breath. 

Another hard, uneven thrust, and then he comes as well. A whimper dies in her throat, overwhelmed by aftershocks, by the knowledge that she pleased him, that she satisfied him. He brushes a hand through her hair and she can feel that he’s shaking as well, his fingers tightening as though to steady himself. 

He remains inside her for a moment, just breathing hard and trying to get his breath back under control and she has no problem with that, still so out of it. 

She almost doesn’t register when he pulls out. He undoes the cuffs around her wrists, letting her hands fall and her arms go slack, tension in her shoulders from being pinned in one place for so long. She can feel herself start to sink into the mattress, knees aching, and then his arms are around her, gently pulling her into his lap and settling them against the headboard and the soft pillows.

“That’s it, darling,” he murmurs. “Tell me what you need.”

Even after her orgasm, she still needs something else, needs to be _touched_ , needs something to alleviate the ache in her cunt. 

She rests her hands over his and guides it between her legs. “I need - _please_.”

“Of course.”

He slips a finger into her cunt and she cries out, clinging to him at the sudden onslaught of pleasure, of that throbbing need finally being attended to. She presses her lips against the crook of his neck until her teeth hurt from trying to keep her noises contained. She’s so slick against his hand, that friction exactly what she needs. 

It’s easy for her to come again. She doesn’t need much, just the wonderful grind of his palm against her clit and the way his fingers are stroking that perfect place inside her. 

He kisses her when she comes, slow and deep, muffling her sob of relief. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers again when the pleasure fades into a distant haze instead of a burning desire. “I shouldn’t have gotten drunk. I won’t do it again.”

His hand rubs soothing circles over her lower back. “I know. I - It’s worrying to see you slip back into those habits that you’re supposed to be breaking. And there are other consequences now as well. I know you might not care about your reputation as the Wrath, but you should, and regardless, you damage _my_ reputation by proxy.”

“I know.” She sighs, letting herself cling to him for a while. “Next time, might I suggest simply dragging me off and taking out your anger sooner? I don’t think simmering for hours at work did your temper any favors.”

“Ah… probably not, no,” he admits. 

She stretches her neck out. “I have to say - I no longer feel like cooking dinner.”

He laughs. “I think you’ve sufficiently made amends.” 

“I’m ordering takeout.” She slides off the bed onto still shaky legs. “Although - I do have to take a shower first. If you want to join me…?”

“You are incorrigible.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Well, it’s certainly not a _no_.”

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed the smut lol


End file.
